


Lilies and Roses

by ToastedBagel1



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flowers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Harassment, M/M, Minor Self-esteem Issues, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastedBagel1/pseuds/ToastedBagel1
Summary: Yeah, hypothetically, Max wanted to talk about it. Of course he did! Hypothetically, it’d be simple to explain the most pathetic situation of his life- easy to explain all his thoughts, enough for Wardlow to admire his breathtaking maturity and want to fuck him, but apparently, he didn’t get anything he ever wanted.
Relationships: Maxwell Jacob Friedman/Wardlow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Lilies and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Wanted to get the fluff out of these two, they deserve so much more rep, enjoy! :)

Yeah, hypothetically, Max wanted to talk about it. Of course he did! Hypothetically, it’d be simple to explain the most pathetic situation of his life- easy to explain all his thoughts, enough for Wardlow to admire his breathtaking maturity and want to fuck him, but apparently, he didn’t get anything he ever wanted. 

“You okay? You’re pouting.”

Max’s attention was stolen by the deep voice as his eyes rose from the tomatoes full of stab wounds- he didn’t know how to cut these- and huffed. He turned back to the fruit-vegetable hybrid. Hypothetically, it’d be way easier to talk about this. In a perfect world, he and Wardlow could elope to a fancy country that served nothing but cocktails and chicken, but for some reason, he couldn’t have that. He stabbed the tomato with a bitter grunt.

“This is concerning,” Wardlow chuckled humorlessly, the worry obvious. He shifted his stance as if preparing for a match, feet bare on the expensive kitchen floor. “You haven’t spoken in- what, three minutes, and those poor tomatoes. Babe, what did they ever do to you?”

With a harsh swing, Max sent the knife hurling into the tomato- and a seed shot right to his eye.

“Son of a bitch!” He exclaimed, slamming a hand to his face. Rage hit him. Of course, of course! What could he even expect at this point? The air grew cold around him, sneering bitterly at the floor- fucking tomatoes were out to get him- everyone was at this point, why not include food along with it!

For fuck’s sake, he thought, the ache in his chest far too painful. And he couldn’t even tell his boyfriend without making a fool of himself. He had his pride, no way in hell he would look like some kid in front of a man he wanted to marry, no better way to scare someone off. And his day just got better and better. First the flowers in his office and now-

“You’re crying.”

Of course he was. 

Max shoved past Wardlow and pushed across the kitchen, furious tears blistering in his eyes and threatening to spill over. Wardlow’s coaxing _Hey, hey, Max- what is-_ rang in his ears: for fuck’s sake, no way in hell he’d embarrass himself any further, how could he? He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, face red and blotchy, anything to fuel the embarrassment, and he reached towards the door’s knob. Fuck this! He wasn’t here to-

An unmoving weight on his sleeve stopped him. Max didn’t turn, only gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what awaited him. 

“Fuck off!” He swore, a wicked snarl flashing across his face as he tugged his arm- but it remained in Wardlow’s grasp. He rolled his eyes, throwing his free arm up in frustration, and kept his eyes on the door, determined. Fuck him! Fuck everyone- fuck this guy too. The note in his office had been right. Watch him turn around and be greeted by a cruel gaze, Max thought bitterly, he’d never been such an idiot like this before, who knew what reaction awaited him. 

“What happened?”

His boyfriend’s words came soft, surprising- far too gentle, as if coaxing a deer out of headlights. Awkward too; situations like these came once a year- neither could recall something like this. Max sniffed, tears blurring his vision, trying to retrieve the vicious thoughts from a moment before.

“Do you, uh, need a hug?”

Max spun his reluctant, watery gaze- hearing Wardlow’s voice become quiet, anxious came once in a decade, even accompanied by an awkward arm open. Insane to believe he’d beaten so many people- hell, Max was pretty sure it was the same tank top he’d worn when they beat Moxley. Tears rose to his eyes. 

“Max?”

“Yeah,” he forced out, voice cracking into a sob and his face crumpled. ”Yeah.”

He hurled himself face first into his boyfriend’s chest, and engulfed by a warm darkness, a hand being placed on his head, and then supporting his back. Max sobbed, scrubbing at his cheeks as the world examined him under a microscope every moment, pressing his face into the shirt and clenching his fists into the heat. If only he could stay here forever- swallowed up by a man who cared for nothing but chicken, beating people up and him, but- he huffed, for some reason he couldn’t. Stupid fucking company. Fuck.

And pulled around him, his boyfriend mumbled _fuck_ for another reason. 

Wardlow ran his hand over the small of his neck, offering a frantic measure of support- hell no, he hadn’t signed on for this, never took any classes in school for it, but this was a part of dating. And he was horrid at it- his sister never taught him this! His chest gave a violent pain; he hated seeing Max like this, every bit of pride lying in heaps around him- _Shh, I know babe, I know_. He brought his arms under Max’s arms, hiccuping sobs breaking through the air and showed little sign of stopping- and Wardlow felt utterly helpless. What was he supposed to do- he grimaced, petting Max’s curls. He refused to stand by while this happened, but all he knew how to do was show pictures of his dog to make Max grin.

And to make it worse, the only experience he had with this was from Max’s addiction to soap operas; they were far too stupid not to watch! He found himself splayed across the couch, enamored by the horrible acting, Max screeching in amusement on his lap. He clenched his jaw, determined. He wasn’t giving that up. So, someone was going to get a fist to their head. In fact, he’d knock them out. One way or another. 

Max adjusted, pressing his cheek against the warm, but odd surface- Wardlow had gone rigid with concern. After a moment, Max’s shaky voice came: “Relax. You’re uncomfortable to smash my face into if you’re not relaxed.”

Wardlow huffed, face red even as his shirt soaked through with tears. Max bristled with affection- he could make the big softie break in second, even if he pretended he was the gruffest man on the planet. Max sneered. He could break anyone- even big men- in more ways than one. 

“Better?” Wardlow said, voice tinged with alarm. “Er, you alright? Clearly not, but-” 

“Not moving,” he grumbled. “I don’t look good for once. And your tits are soft.”

Max grinned at the sputter from above him. And Max was right, he was a soft, soft man. The best chest to dry his tears, obviously, at least he agreed with Silver and Reynolds about one thing. Nice boobs.

“I can hear you.”

“Shh, Tits McGee,” Max squished a finger against Wardlow’s chest. “Don’t ruin the moment.” 

“Moment? You’re groping me.”

Max grinned, tilting his head up to scowl playfully at Wardlow, who still looked bewildered. Max shoved his face back into his boyfriend with an unfamiliar guilt. “Sit- you’re easier to curl up on when you’re sitting down.”

“We can sit on the couch, bed-“

“Floor is good,” he said, grabbing Wardlow by the collar of his tank top, and pulled him down with a yank, a smile rising to Max’s lips. 

Wardlow nearly grinned- still, panic remained present. Max pressed his lips into a line. Apparently, there was no getting out of this, even if he ended up fucking things more than he already had, but even so. He had cried his eyes out, who wouldn’t leave him? Yet there remained the huge man, beckoning Max over as if it meant the world to him. And on top of that, Wardlow never initiated huge actions like he had just done! He was all supportive pats to the arm, reassuring squeezes, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair and over his skin- and Max had to admit, he was a fan either way. He brightened, dropping himself between Wardlow’s outstretched legs, pressing his bulk against his boyfriend. Much, much better.

And even more to his delight, Wardlow wrapped his arms around Max’s chest, placing his cheek against the blond hair. Yes, very much. Even if the lump in his throat made each breath an effort, Max liked this, very much. 

And to think- his mind flicked back to only a year ago, the minor league Jewish kid with crippling anxiety who could hardly curl himself up in his thick blankets without needing a body pillow pressed against his back. Now look at him. Youngest and most prominent wrestler in history no doubt- he pressed his cheek against exposed, tan arm around him. Sure, he couldn’t bring himself to thank Wardlow for his- what, his entire existence, but at least he could snuggle himself right here, telepathically telling Wardlow his love. And get dicked down, whenever he wanted! And even if the tears still shone on his cheeks, the skin against his own was perfect. Now, all he needed to do was explain what happened without crying. Again. 

“Better,” Max said, exhaling out a dreamy sigh. Perfect enough to make him forget about anything that had happened- Wardlow’s slow caresses over his skin made him melt any day. “We gotta do this more often, you’re warm.”

“Didn’t know if you needed it, I know you like this-“ Wardlow paused, Max bristling in agreement- “you alright?”

Max huffed. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk about it- he was so comfortable, engulfed in warmth accompanied by a huge man, he didn’t want to mess up the moment! Why would he give that up? Duh. For nothing. Yet at the same time: he desperately wanted to talk about it. He’d avoided it for a week now- pathetic. All it was was pathetic, he should have been able to deal! But even so. Simply wanted to word vomit on his boyfriend until everything was out and the layer of panic that coated the room disappeared, and Max could get back to injuring tomatoes with a grinning man beside him. Even if he had never done it before-

“You smell.”

“Babe, I was getting all sentimental, you had to interrupt it? When I’m about to declare my love for you? Not cool. Rude, even.”

“You do,” Wardlow chuckled, his nose wrinkling. “Like… Flowers. And tomatoes.”

Max inhaled sharply. He had almost forgotten why he was here. “Well, I got assaulted by a tomato seed.”

“And flower seeds then?”

“Oh. Yeah- lilies, actually. Wow. I’m so fuckin’ sad I know that.”

It was easy to sense the change in the air, and Wardlow wasn’t convinced for a moment. The outburst from earlier hadn’t revealed anything, something laid beneath the surface. “Something happened.”

“Yeah,” Max said, a wicked, sarcastic grin plastering itself across his face. Wardlow frowned. “With fucking lilies. Fucking orange lilies. Orange. It’s practically an insult in itself.”

“Lilies?”

Max pressed his lips into a thin line, desperately holding back unshed tears as he opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Yeah,” he said, voice breaking. He cleared his throat, trying to start again- don’t let him make a fool out of himself again. “Left in my office- yeah, fucking, right there, middle of my desk. And I didn’t give a shit about flowers until today! Didn’t even know that somewhere in my brain I knew they were lilies- it’s- I thought they were from you, so of course I looked at them!” Max scrubbed at his tearing eyes- for fuck’s sake, not again. “A note in them- planted nice and pretty- called me a bitch.”

“Who-“

“I don’t fucking know- fuck, it’s so ridiculous and-“ the tears began, slipping down his red cheeks, _goddamnit_ \- “I fucking hate this company. They called me a bitch! Didn’t even do it to my face, shoved it on a note- called me a bitch! I hate it!”

Wardlow opened his mouth to speak- _just how long had this been happening?_ \- but the sobs continued. 

“I’m a fucking idiot! I shouldn’t have looked, it was so stupid to look and-”

The tears worsened, scalding down his cheeks and leaving streaks of shine, but his face had already been burrowed into his boyfriend’s chest. Wardlow shushed him, hoisting the man closer to him and ran his hand through the blond hair- _it’s alright, I know, I know_ \- and holding the back of his neck with his opposite hand. Wardlow drew his knees up to the sides of Max’s trembling body; he didn’t trust him to not face plant straight into the hardwood. 

“Fuck- it was awful, and- and I know I’ve got a character and there’s not even that much of a difference between-“ his words broke with a sobbing hiccup, nuzzling himself further into the other’s shirt- “but it- I hate it! And fuckin’ idiots, I don’t mean to do any of this and people- they keep doing these- these pathetic little things, like a fucking joke, it’s-“

“I know, I know. I’ve got you babe,” Wardlow soothed, starting with a complete lie: he hadn’t heard a thing about this, didn’t know anything. His heart gave a dreadful twist. He hadn’t heard about this until the man was tucked between his legs, sobbing. “Fucking bastards. This wasn’t your fault.”

“It feels like it fucking was! There’s- there’s literally no other reason someone would do it, there has to be something that made them do it, and it’s obviously-“

“No, it’s not your fault. If they had a problem they’d actually talk to you, otherwise they’re children. They sound like fuckers to me-“ Max snorted through his tears, amused by Wardlow’s gruffness- “you’re not the one at fault, and not an idiot either.”

A silent minute passed, only accompanied by shuddering breaths. Wardlow’s chest tightened- where was his Max? ”You’re not an idiot, Max.”

The other let out a sigh, a nod finally made. Wardlow settled, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. “At least pick flowers that I like if they want to fuck with me, orange lilies are stupid! Fucking children. Need to get a life.”

“I’m assuming you don’t know who did this?” Wardlow asked, far too gentle for the severity of his words, and Max nodded. “We’ll figure it out, beat the shit out of them, and we can do a whole storyline to beat the shit out of them too.”

“Of course. I’m not an idiot,” Max said, voice all wrong. Wardlow held his face in his hands. Not an ounce of confidence in his response as if the foundations had crumbled away, Max was confidence itself. A flood of arrogance too, apart of the man, so why mess with what he loved? Well, of course he’d mess with Max, but never in such a way. And to see him like this- Wardlow brushed his thumbs over Max’s cheeks.

“Furthest thing from it.” Wardlow pressed a deep kiss against his forehead- furthest thing from his comfort zone. He didn’t do kisses to the forehead. But Max loved them- he’d start doing them more often, he decided. “Only when I call you one. When you’re being one.”

Max barked a laugh, eyes red and bleary, but grinning. Kisses always worked. “You’re good at this. You’d be a good therapist- you know what? I called dibs on you, ain’t letting you go for anything, babe. As in: you can’t escape.” Wardlow snorted. “That’s why you’re a damn good bodyguard, damn great boyfriend too. Can beat up anyone I want, and your shirts are so absorbent. See? Good at both.”

“My only uses are my muscles and absorbent shirts then?”

“Yup!”

“Can I call you an idiot now?”

“Nope! I’m making you my pillow, eye for an eye. I expect to be waited on from here on out now that I’ve cried on you.” Wardlow snorted and Max made a deep noise of happiness, eyes fluttering closed as if nothing had happened. “I thought I could’ve solved it on my own, thought you’d be so impressed you’d want to fuck me. I mean, you already have so I know you already want to.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Wardlow teased, grinning into the curls. 

“Shut it-“ Max made a playful attempt to whack his hand against the other, body slumped in exhaustion. “Now I’m tired, stupid ass people wearing me out, don’t want to sleep, though. Gonna lay here, get some kisses. Now! I just cried on you, you’d say no to me? Not gonna sleep.”

“You seem like you might.”

“Shh, babe, let me take a nap, and… Then we’ll beat ‘em up.”

Wardlow paused for a moment. No matter how badly he wanted to hold this man, give him all the affection he needed and then some extra, an issue still remained. 

“I need to head to the office real quick, pick up paperwork-“ Max grunted in annoyance, nuzzling his face into his chest- “only twenty minutes. Alright?”

“Fine, fine, you’ll come right back? I’m going to kill Cody, fuck him and all his stupid paperwork. You better, I’ll add you to my list if not, you need to stay here after that. No working out or anything. Just my pillow.”

“‘Course,” Wardlow said, hoisting Max to his feet, nudging him towards the leather couch. “I’ll be right back, you get some sleep.”

“Fucking paperwork. You better back soon though, I won’t sleep until you’re back! Twenty minutes! Go over the speed limit, tell ‘em you gotta get home to your boyfriend. Or he’ll fucking sue them.”

Wardlow hummed in agreement, giving a brief kiss to his forehead and narrowly avoided Max’s slap to his ass- _fun ruiner!_ \- and drove to the office, made a quick stop and returned in sixteen minutes, right on cue. Perfect timing for him to lay down on the couch, and Max was more than ready to tackle him and settle himself atop the man- which was no easy order, Max was only fifty pounds lighter- even with the abandoned tomatoes in the kitchen. They’d get to those eventually. 

And the next morning, once Wardlow dragged Max out of bed and prepared breakfast with a twenty four year old man clinging to his arm, finally ushered him into the building. Pressed a kiss to Max’s cheekbone, and left him alone outside his office. No doubt, Max thought bitterly, the flowers would be there and the note: nestled between the blooming bursts of orange and seething. Bitch.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened first: couldn’t tell if the door opened or if the stack of papers he’d been holding hit the floor, because in the middle of the desks sat a basket of roses, and a card. He unfolded it.  
  


_Much better than those lilies._

_Love, the man whose tomatoes you stabbed (but he’ll forgive you)_

“You like them?”

And as always, even before Max slammed his face right into the brick wall of a man, the voice was unmistakable.


End file.
